Della fumbled for the key to the house, only to have him snatch it away from her and put it in the lock, pushing her inside with his big body as the door swung open.
“You’re home!”
Both of them froze, his front pressed against her back, their faces likely wearing equally startled and probably guilty expressions.
“Mrs. Wattings said you likely wouldn’t be home for hours, and I shouldn’t wait, but see, you are here, and much earlier than expected.” Olivia beamed at both of them. “My lord, a pleasure to see you. I didn’t realize the two of you were together.”
Sarah peered over Olivia’s shoulder, her expression bemused. Not unusual, given Olivia’s enthusiastic mien. Likely Sarah had done her best to dissuade Olivia from staying, but Della knew her sister would not be deterred if she had a purpose.
And her purpose today—even though she did not know it—was to keep her sister from embarking on an illicit affair.
Drat.
“Do come into the parlor, Olivia.” She might as well accept that nothing passionate would be occurring today. “Sarah, do you mind ringing for tea?”
Sarah nodded, her expression still rueful. There was nothing you could do, Della wanted to say.
“Lord Stanbury, would you care for tea?” He hadn’t moved from where he had been when Olivia had hailed them. His face was still frozen, as though in shock. And disappointment, Della knew. Since she was feeling vastly disappointed herself.
“I should return home,” he replied, his voice clipped. “We can meet to strategize later, I will leave you to your sister.”
He didn’t wait for a response, just spun on his heel and went out the door.
“Good-bye, my lord!” Olivia called.
Della took a deep breath before turning back around. She didn’t want Olivia to have any kind of suspicion as to what had almost happened; a pretend betrothal was one thing, but a very real affair would make Olivia determined to interfere.
It was unfortunate none of her sisters had been able to keep her from running off with Mr. Baxter. But if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have Nora.
“Where are the girls?” she said. She hadn’t been able to spend as much time with her daughter since returning to London as she would have liked. What with hunting for Mr. Wattings and attending parties with Lord Hugely Attractive. She’d barely gotten to work for the Society for Poor and Unfortunate Children lately. She missed it, actually.
“They’re upstairs with Becky,” Sarah said. The three ladies began to walk toward the parlor. “We decided to visit the zoo another time, since Emily was sneezing this morning. They told me today that you and I are too old to play with, so we’re being shunted aside for a younger version.”
Della snorted in response. “Also because if they don’t spend time with us they’re not having lessons.”
“True,” Sarah confirmed.
“Della, you have to tell me how you came to meet Lord Stanbury,” Olivia said as they settled into their seats. “Why are you pretending to be engaged to him? I am delighted to see you out again, but I worry about you, you know.”
“I know. You don’t have to, but it is lovely that you do.” Della smiled at her younger sister, by far the most exuberant of the duke’s daughters. “Apparently Lord Stanbury is not accustomed to Society, and he thought that he might get entrapped by some conniving female if he entered this world as an unattached gentleman.” She shrugged. “It suits me to pretend, and he has promised to help me locate Sarah’s husband.”
Olivia turned to look at Sarah. “Oh! I didn’t realize—that is, I—”
“You thought I was like Della, relieved to be free of the burden of a gentleman in my life?” Sarah gave Della a fond look. “I admire your sister’s independence and refusal to be constrained by what people expect, but I did love—do love—my husband.”
“Refusal to be constrained by what people expect is a delightful euphemism for ‘won’t be told what to do,’” Della remarked dryly.
Sarah burst into laughter, nodding her agreement.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Olivia asked.
Della shook her head. “Lord Stanbury and I asked at the docks this morning.” She didn’t want to raise Sarah’s hopes by telling her Mr. Wattings had been in town a year prior. Better to wait until she had something definitive to share. “But we will not quit until we know something,” she said, a fierce tone in her voice.
Sarah gave a soft smile. “Thank you,” she replied.
“What happens after you find Mrs. Wattings’s husband?” Olivia asked.
One of the maids came in bearing a tea tray, setting it down on the table between them. Olivia immediately snagged a biscuit, but Della knew her questions wouldn’t cease merely because her mouth was full.
“I mean,” she said, her words emerging between bites, “how are you and Lord Stanbury going to explain when you don’t get married after all?”
Sarah arched her brow as though curious to hear the answer as well.
“Well,” Della replied, fixing her tea, “we decided Lord Stanbury would announce that he is too busy with ducal things to consider marriage at this time.” She shrugged. “And everyone will assume it is my fault, since I am so extremely fallen.”
Olivia frowned as she swallowed. “But doesn’t that just mean you acquire more scandal? Don’t you want to find someone you actually want to marry?”
Sarah bit her lip as though feeling Della’s emotions herself. It was lovely to have a close friend, but not when your friend suffered alongside you.
“I won’t ever get married,” she replied, trying to keep her voice light. “What kind of man would want to marry me anyway?”
Olivia snorted. “A wise one? You’re intelligent, brave, a good mother, and beautiful besides.”
Della felt herself start to blush. If only she’d had as much confidence in herself five years ago as her sister did in her now. She would not have run off with Mr. Baxter, who’d exploited her insecurities and persuaded her to do a very foolish thing.
“Thank you, Olivia, but I have to assure you, I have no interest in marriage.” Della felt her chest get tight as she pondered it. “A husband can do with his wife whatever he wants. He might say during the courtship period that he can overlook a woman’s past, but what would happen the first time we had a disagreement? Or the twentieth time?” She shook her head. “Far better not to risk it at all.”
“That is such a shame,” Sarah said, her tone gentle. “I have to believe that any man you would choose would never betray you so.”
“But I cannot be certain. Because clearly I have very poor judgment in men,” Della replied wryly. “Mr. Baxter was a blackguard of the highest order, and I chose him. Who’s to say I wouldn’t make such a terrible decision again?” She shook her head. “No, the safest thing is to remain unmarried. I have my friend, my sisters, my daughter. I don’t need anything else.”
Except that she did. She needed passion, and she knew where she would find it. If only Olivia weren’t so stubborn she would even now be discovering what lay beneath Lord Stanbury’s clothing.
But she would never conflate her desire with love. With commitment. She wouldn’t put him under that obligation. As much because she didn’t want to be obliged. She might like him as a bed partner—although she had yet to confirm that—but she did not want him, or any man, as a husband.
If not for her own self, then for Nora.
“Well,” Olivia said, gesturing with her biscuit at Della, “we’ve all made mistakes in our choices, but that doesn’t mean we all don’t deserve a happily-ever-after.”
Sarah nodded. The traitor.
“And there might be someone who could persuade you that marriage, that love, is worth the risk.” And then her expression got all spoony. No doubt thinking of her own husband.
Della wouldn’t argue with her sister, even though she knew full well that she would never find anyone worth the risk. Because the risk was too great. But if she said that to Olivia, her sister would spend the next hour—and an enormous amount of biscuits—trying to convince her otherwise.
The duke’s daughters didn’t always have a lot in common, but they did share one trait: stubbornness.
Which meant that Della would stubbornly persevere in her attempt to gain Lord Stanbury as her lover.
If being sexually sabotaged was a crime, Griffith would never emerge from a jail cell again. He stalked back to Frederick’s town house, frustration oozing from every fiber of his being.
What was it about her that felt so different? He’d been with plenty of women before, all different sorts, the only commonality being that they found him worthy of their consideration.
As they damn well should.
Griffith wasn’t conceited—or, perhaps he was, but his conceit was well deserved. He knew he was handsome, charming, and attentive in bed. He’d gotten so accustomed to having whatever desire he wanted almost immediately granted that he didn’t know how to react with this latest impediment.
Of course it was only an impediment, not a stoppage. It had been she, after all, who had made the initial proposal. And he knew she was just as eager as he to begin.
But what if she changed her mind? What if her sister and her friend discovered what she was planning and talked her out of it?
He’d have to ascertain she was still of the same mind when he saw her again. And if she was not, he’d have to accept her change of heart and withdraw gracefully, albeit frustratedly.
“My lord.”
How had he arrived back at Frederick’s so quickly?
“Good afternoon,” he replied to the footman who’d greeted him. The door swung open, revealing the taciturn butler.
He would have to figure out the man’s name eventually. Since he was going to be Griffith’s own butler at some point. His throat tightened as he thought about what that change would mean.
Please don’t let Frederick die, he pleaded. Now that I’ve returned home.
“Lord Stanbury, the duke is hoping to see you before dinner. If you would—?” he said, gesturing to Fred’s room. Griffith removed his cloak, relieved to have something to think about besides her and what they were not doing right now.
“What is it, Fred?” Griffith said as he entered Frederick’s room. His cousin was seated in front of a blazing fire, the warmth of it heating Griffith even from the doorway.
His cousin turned his head and smiled. “It’s nothing. Can’t I want to see my cousin and heir?”
Griffith suppressed a sigh of relief. He strode into the room, shrugging off his jacket and placing it on the back of one of the chairs. “You don’t have to make me feel a physical hell, it’s enough that I am being forced to go out into Society,” he commented, nodding toward the fire.
Frederick chuckled in reply. “But tell me the truth,” he said, fixing Griffith with a keen gaze, “it is far easier than you feared, isn’t it?” He rolled his chair closer to the hearth. Griffith was surprised Fred wasn’t on fire already.
“Being a duke’s heir smooths the path far more easily than being the rapscallion relative from a noble family.”
Rapscallion. Griffith would make sure to share the word with Della and Mrs. Wattings. “Perhaps,” he said, wondering why he felt so reluctant to admit Fred’s point, “but it really shouldn’t be.” He spread his hands out. “I have nothing to recommend me but my expectations. I ran off before anyone could come to know me, but I am certain I left a reputation behind.”
Frederick shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters as long as your title is old and your money is good.”
Griffith snorted in disgust. “That shouldn’t be all of it.” He recalled Della, and what she’d said about her own reputation. If it was as Fred said, then perhaps he could leverage his standing to help hers.
And then she’d marry someone else, a voice whispered inside his head. He couldn’t let that happen.
But you don’t wish to be married.
Did he?
He thought about it, thought about her as his wife rather than his lover. Though even that hadn’t happened yet. And immediately felt the chafing tug of responsibility at his neck. He’d run away twelve years ago to avoid that very thing. Even though she was alluring, he would not be tied down. It was bad enough he had to inherit a dukedom—and then he wished he could punch himself, he sounded so entitled—but he did not want the added binding of a wife.
So, yes, he wished for her company for a short time, as long as they had their bargain, but he did not want, nor would he expect, any more. They were agreed on that, at least, even though it seemed they agreed on nothing else.
Another reason not to marry her specifically. All she would do was argue with him. Perhaps in several years, when he’d finally become resigned to being a duke he could look for a wife. When he was too old to care.
“Speaking of making it easier to go about in Society,” he said, “I do have a young lady, a Lady Della, who is my betrothed.”
Silence, but Griffith could see his cousin’s face. He was wincing, as though Griff had dealt a painful, if expected, blow.
“Your betrothed. Lady Della Howlett?”
“You know her.”
Frederick’s jaw tightened. “Everyone knows her. Everyone knows she—”
“Stop.” Griffith held his hand up. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“But she—”
“No.”
Frederick heaved a clearly exasperated sigh. “I hadn’t expected when I said you could get away with practically anything as a duke’s heir that you would already be testing those limits. Although I suppose I should have, knowing you.”
“It’s not true.” And why was he telling Fred anyway? Was it because of Frederick’s disapproval, or in spite of it? “We’re not actually engaged. She and I have made a bargain. She has agreed to keep me company as I return to Society, and I am doing something for her.”
What that something was entailed either giving her the benefit of his cock or helping her locate her friend’s husband. Depending on what aspect of the bargain one was looking at.
“But why?”
Griffith shrugged, unwilling to admit that the thought of entering Society on his own was as terrifying as it was.
“I suppose it is because she is like me.”
He hadn’t thought of it that way before. But it was true, wasn’t it? She had spurned Society to chart her own course, as had he. He’d seen how she was around her sisters and her friend. He knew she wanted to be able to see them, to have her family.
As he did. He knew he would be the duke no matter what—lineage being what it was—but he also knew he couldn’t just continue as though he weren’t the duke, so he was obliged to learn what Frederick had to teach him. And to use his power to try to enact some change, no matter how small.
Frederick chuckled. “I suppose she is, now that I think about it. From what I understand, she is very much her own lady. Determined to make her own way in the world.” A pause, and then he continued. “And she behaved in a way that affected her family profoundly.”
Griffith winced at the implied criticism. He hadn’t given a thought to the family he’d cared about that he’d left behind. He’d just known that the life his parents wanted for him wasn’t the life he wanted.
“I’m sorry, Fred.”
Frederick shook his head. “Don’t be. You did what was right for you. I just wish I had been that brave before—” He gestured to himself, clearly indicating his illness. “Speaking of which, I promised you I would consult with another doctor. I have one scheduled very soon. Not that I am hoping for a miracle, or anything.”
Griffith felt his chest tighten at the reminder of Fred’s illness.
“You know I will do my best to prove a worthy successor.” He meant it, even though it originally felt as though it were foisted onto him.
Poor Griffith, he thought ruefully. Forced to become a duke, with estates and wealth and power.
He was ridiculous.
“I know you will. That’s why I am relieved to hear that Lady Della will not be your duchess.” Frederick’s eyes crinkled. “She would make a terrible duchess, always doing just what she wanted to, not behaving with proper decorum.”
“Oh, like me, only she’s female.”
It was unfair, but that was the way of their world. And if he could help her regain some of her previous standing, at the very least so she could appear in Society without people whispering about her?
He would.
“My lord.” Clark stepped into the room after a cursory tap on the door.
“What is it?” Griffith said, turning to look at his first mate. No, his valet now. Always his friend. Clark’s expression was drawn.
“You’re needed.”
Griffith didn’t wait to hear any more; he strode to the door, pushing it wide to accommodate his body as he walked through. Clark held his hat out, and Griffith smashed it on his head with barely a pause. “They weren’t able to arrest you, so they’ve taken Hyland.” His sailing master.
“What are the charges?”
“Same as yours, I suppose. Interference with property and then he resisted, so they’re charging him with assaulting an officer.”
Hyland was as stubborn as Griffith, but didn’t have Griff’s size and his aristocratic background to protect himself.
Griffith shouted at the butler as he and Clark walked out the door. “Send to Robson, have him meet us at the naval police station. And a note to Lady Della that I cannot meet her this evening after all.”
He really should get the man’s name.
“Yes, my lord,” the butler replied.
He and Clark kept a quick pace as they exited the house.
“I don’t have any money,” Griffith said, recalling he’d forgotten to put his jacket back on.
Clark looked over at him, not slowing as he replied. “All you have to do is wave your privilege around. That’ll get him out better than a hundred pounds would.”
Griff felt the weight of it on his shoulders, so heavy it felt as though it would break him. And he had very broad shoulders, well used to holding responsibilities.
But there were significant differences in being the captain of a ship and the incoming heir to an ancient title. The former—well, the former he could control with his actions. The latter he could only act under, knowing the only effect he could have would be a negative one.
Marrying the wrong woman, saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, ruining livelihoods with the wrong decision.
While he was determined to do the best he could, as he’d promised Frederick, he also knew how quickly he could foul it up.
Was it any wonder he longed for an escape into oblivion in her arms?